The Earth-Plants spring up from beneath,       The Air-Plants swing down from above,
       But the trees grow
       Both above and below,
      And one makes a prosperous .
In the opportunities offered by the Caffeteria, and in longer moments, rather planned for, with some remnants of an earlier , Mr. Thaddler to become acquainted with Mrs. Bell. Diantha never quite liked him, but he won her mother's heart by frank praise of the girl and her ventures.
 
“I never saw a smarter woman in my life,” he said; “and no airs. I tell you, ma'am, if there was more like her this world would be an easier place to live in, and I can see she owes it all to you, ma'am.”
 
This the mother would never admit for a moment, but loyally on the scientific mind of Mr. Henderson Bell, still of Jopalez.
 
“I don't see how he can bear to let her out of his sight,” said Mr. Thaddler.
 
“Of course he hated to let her go,” replied the lady. “We both did. But he is very proud of her now.”
 
“I guess there's somebody else who's proud of her, too,” he suggested. “Excuse me, ma'am, I don't mean to , but we know there must be a good reason for your daughter keeping all Orchardina at a distance. Why, she could have married six times over in her first year here!”
 
“She does not wish to give up her work,” Mrs. Bell explained.
 
“Of course not; and why should she? Nice, womanly business, I am sure. I hope nobody'd expect a girl who can keep house for a whole township to settle down to bossing one man and a hired girl.”
 
In course of time he got a pretty clear notion of how matters stood, and upon it, seriously rolling his big cigar about between pursed lips. Mr. Thaddler was a good deal of a gossip, but this he kept to himself, and did what he could to enlarge the of union House.
 
The business grew. It held its own in spite of , and after a certain point began to spread . Mrs. Bell's coming and Mr. Eltwood's championship, together with Mr. Thaddler's, quieted the dangerous which had imperilled the place at one time. They lingered, , of course. People never forget slanders. A score of years after there were to be found in Orchardina folk who still whispered about dark allegations concerning union House; and the papers had done some pretty serious damage; but the fame of good food, good service, cheapness and efficiency made steady headway.
 
In view of the increase and of the plans still working in her mind, Diantha made certain propositions to Mr. Porne, and also to Mrs. Porne, in regard to a new, built club-house for the girls.
 
“I have proved what they can do, with me to manage them, and want now to prove that they can do it themselves, with any matron competent to follow my directions. The house need not be so expensive; one big dining-room, with turn-up tables like those ironing-board seat-tables, you know—then they can dance there. Small reception room and office, hall, kitchen and laundry, and thirty bedrooms, forty by thirty, with an “ell” for the laundry, ought to do it, oughtn't it?”
 
Mrs. Porne agreed to make plans, and did so most successfully, and Mr. Porne found small difficulty in persuading an to put up such a house, which visibly could be used as a boarding-house or small hotel, if it failed in its first purpose.
 
It was built of concrete, a plain simple structure, but fine in proportions and pleasantly colored.
 
Diantha kept her plans to herself, as usual, but they grew so fast that she felt a species of terror sometimes, lest the ice break somewhere.
 
“Steady, now!” she would say. “This is real business, just plain business. There's no reason why I shouldn't succeed as well as Fred Harvey. I will succeed. I am succeeding.”
 
She kept well, she worked hard, she was more than glad to have her mother with her; but she wanted something else, which seemed farther off than ever. Her lover's picture hung on the wall of her bedroom, stood on her bureau, and (but this was a secret) a small one was carried in her .
 
Rather a grim looking young woman, Diantha, with the cares of the world of house-keepers upon her proud young shoulders; with all the stirring hopes to be kept within bounds, all the fears to be resisted, and the growing burden of a large affair to be carried steadily.
 
But when she woke, in the brilliant California mornings, she would lie still a few moments looking at the face on the wall and the face on the bureau; would draw the little picture out from under her pillow and kiss it, would say to herself for the thousandth time, “It is for him, too.”
 
She missed him, always.
 
The very of her general attitude, the continued strength with which she met the days and carried them, made it all the more needful for her to have some one with whom she could forget every care, every purpose, every effort; some one who would put strong arms around her and call her “Little Girl.” His letters were both a comfort and a pain. He was loyal, kind, loving, but always that wall of . He loved her, he did not love her work.
 
She read them over and over, hunting anew for the tender phrases, the things which seemed most to feed and comfort her. She suffered not only from her loneliness, but from his; and most keenly from his sternly suppressed for freedom and the work that belonged to him.
 
“Why can't he see,” she would say to herself, “that if this succeeds, he can do his work; that I can make it possible for him? And he won't let me. He won't take it from me. Why are men so proud? Is there anything so about a woman that it is disgraceful to let one help you? And why can't he think at all about the others? It's not just us, it's all people. If this works, men will have easier times, as well as women. Everybody can do their real work better with this old business once set right.”
 
And then it was always time to get up, or time to go to bed, or time to attend to some of the numberless details of her affairs.
 
She and her mother had an early lunch before the caffeteria opened, and were glad of the afternoon tea, often held in a corner of the broad . She sat there one hot, dusty afternoon, alone and unusually tired. The asphalted street was glaring and noisy, the cross street deep in soft dust, for months unwet.
 
Failure had not discouraged her, but increasing success with all its and satisfaction called for more and more power. Her mind was busy foreseeing, arranging, providing for emergencies; and then the whole thing slipped away from her, she dropped her head upon her arm for a moment, on the edge of the tea table, and wished for Ross.
 
From down the street and up the street at this moment, two men were coming; both young, both tall, both good looking, both approaching union House. One of them was the nearer, and his foot soon sounded on the wooden step. The other stopped and looked in a shop window.
 
Diantha started up, came forward,—it was Mr. Eltwood. She had a vague sense of disappointment, but received him cordially. He stood there, his hat off, holding her hand for a long moment, and gazing at her with evident . They turned and sat down in the shadow of the reed-curtained corner.
 
The man at the shop window turned, too, and went away.
 
Mr. Eltwood had been a warm friend and cordial supporter from the of the Club-splitting speech. He had helped materially in the slow, up-hill days of the girl's effort, with faith and kind words. He had met the mother's coming with most friendly advances, and Mrs. Bell found herself much at home in his liberal little church.
 
Diantha had grown to like and trust him much.
 
“What's this about the new house, Miss Bell? Your mother says I may know.”
 
“Why not?” she said. “You have followed this thing from the first. Sugar or lemon? You see I want to disentangle the , set them upon their own separate feet, and establish the practical working of each one.”
 
“I see,” he said, “and 'day service' is not 'cooked food delivery.'”
 
“Nor yet 'rooms for entertainment',” she agreed. “We've got them all labelled, mother and I. There's the 'd. s.' and 'c. f. d.' and 'r. f. e.' and the 'p. p.' That's picnics and parties. And more coming.”
 
“What, more yet? You'll kill yourself, Miss Bell. Don't go too fast. You are doing a great work for humanity. Why not take a little more time?”
 
“I want to do it as quickly as I can, for reasons,” answered Diantha.
 
Mr. Eltwood looked at her with tender understanding. “I don't want to intrude any further than you are willing to want me,” he said, “but sometimes I think that even you—strong as you are—would be better for some help.”
 
She did not contradict him. Her hands were in her lap, her eyes on the worn boards of the piazza floor. She did not see a man pass on the other side of the street, cast a searching glance across and walk quickly on again.
 
“If you were quite free to go on with your beautiful work,” said Mr. Eltwood slowly, “if you were offered , profound respect, as well as love, of course; would you object to marrying, Miss Bell?” asked in an even voice, as if it were a matter of metaphysical . Mrs. Porne had told him of her theory as to a lover in the home town, wishing to save him a long heart ache, but he was not sure of it, and he wanted to be.
 
Diantha glanced quickly at him, and felt the emotion under his quiet words. She withdrew her eyes, looking quite the other way.
 
“You are enough of a friend to know, Mr. Eltwood,” she said, “I rather thought you did know. I am engaged.”
 
“Thank you for telling me; some one is greatly to be congratulated,” he sincerely, and talked quietly on about less personal matters, holding his tea untasted till it was cold.
 
“Do let me give you some that is hot,” she said at last, “and let me thank you from my heart for the help and strength and comfort you have been to me, Mr. Eltwood.”
 
“I'm very glad,” he said; and again, “I am very glad.” “You may count upon anything I can do for you, always,” he continued. “I am proud to be your friend.”
 
He held her hand once more for a moment, and went away with his head up and a firm step. To one who watched him go, he had almost a air, but it was not triumph, only the brave beginning of a hard fight and a long one.
 
Then came Mrs. Bell, returned from a shopping trip, and sank down in a wicker rocker, glad of the shade and a cup of tea. No, she didn't want it iced. “Hot tea makes you cooler,” was her theory.
 
“You don't look very tired,” said the girl. “Seems to me you get stronger all the time.”
 
“I do,” said her mother. “You don't realize, you can't realize, Diantha, what this means to me. Of course to you I am an old woman, a back number—one has to feel so about one's mother. I did when I married, and my mother then was five years younger than I am now.”
 
“I don't think you old, mother, not a bit of it. You ought to have twenty or thirty years of life before you, real life.”
 
“That's just what I'm feeling,” said Mrs. Bell, “as if I'd just begun to live! This is so different! There is a big, moving thing to work for. There is—why Diantha, you wouldn't believe what a comfort it is to me to feel that my work here is—really—adding to the profits!”
 
Diantha laughed aloud.
 
“You dear old darling,” she said, “I should think it was! It is making the profits.”
 
“And it grows so,” her mother went on. “Here's this part so well assured that you're setting up the new union House! Are you sure about Mrs. Jessup, dear?”
 
“As sure as I can be of any one till I've tried a long time. She has done all I've asked her to here, and done it well. Besides, I mean to keep a hand on it for a year or two yet—I can't afford to have that fail.”
 
Mrs. Jessup was an imported aunt, belonging to one of the cleverest girls, and Diantha had had her in training for some weeks.
 
“Well, I guess she's as good as any you'd be likely to get,” Mrs. Bell admitted, “and we mustn't expect . If this can't be done by an average bunch of working women the world over, it can't be done—that's all!”
 
“It can be done,” said the girl, calmly. “It will be done. You see.”
 
“Mr. Thaddler says you could run any kind of a business you set your hand to,” her mother went on. “He has a profound respect for your abilities, Dina.”
 
“Seems to me you and Mr. Thaddler have a good deal to say to each other, motherkins. I believe you enjoy that caffeteria desk, and all the compliments you get.”
 
“I do,” said Mrs. Bell . “I do indeed! Why, I haven't seen so many men, to speak to, since—why, never in my life! And they are very amusing—some of them. They like to come here—like it immensely. And I don't wonder. I believe you'll do well to enlarge.”
 
Then they into a discussion of the winter's plans. The day service department and its employment agency was to go on at the New union House, with Mrs. Jessup as manager; the present establishment was to be run as a hotel and restaurant, and the for the cooked food delivery.
 
Mrs. Thorvald and her husband were installed by themselves in another new venture; a small laundry outside the town. This place employed several girls steadily, and the motor found a new use between meals, in collecting and delivering laundry parcels.
 
“It simplifies it a lot—to get the washing out of the place and the girls off my mind,”............